


Discounts During Blossom Season

by TheRealSEHinton



Category: The Outsiders - All Media Types, The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Ao3 isn't letting me tag my relationshop, F/F, Fluff, It's about Sylvia/Cherry, Just know this isn't about Johnny and Dally, Lesbian Character, M/M, No Lesbians Die, THIS IS ABOUT THE LESBIANS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:13:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23925178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRealSEHinton/pseuds/TheRealSEHinton
Summary: Centuries into the future, Cherry Valance still feels the same pressures as the everyday girl. She's decided to screw it all and enjoy the rest of her high school life with her friends. Luckily, that includes a beautiful and mysterious new girl.
Relationships: Johnny Cade/Dallas Winston, Sherri "Cherry" Valance/Sylvia
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was supposed to be a one-shot but it's so long I'm dividing it into chapters. Don't stressed, it's all finished.

I’m in my junior year of high school and I’ve officially stopped giving a shit.

I can thank Angel for the motivation, the girl who started me down the path of zero-fuckery. I’ve known her since we were children, it’s hard not to know anybody in a town as small as ours. But we never talked till this summer. She has her gang, her brothers and their friends, and I have mine--the uppity, self-absorbed pricks who dance through life and step on toes. 

Gangs don’t mix around here, especially ones like mine and the Shepards. And I wasted seventeen years of my life without ever knowing my best friend.

But sophomore year ended and Bob wanted to catch a movie, so we all hopped in his car and drove to the town’s cinema. My mind has been a consistent, reeling collection of gears for years and years, and it’s persistent and it’s constant and annoying. But every once in awhile everything clicks into place. And that’s what happened as Marcia and I stood behind Bob and Randy in the concessions land, it all clicked.

Angela Shepard was behind the counter, taking all of Bob’s bullshit in with an indifferent stare. She hardly responded to his pick-up lines and his passes, when she did, she’d merely say something along the lines of, “Do you want extra butter with your popcorn?”

Bob didn’t get the hint, and he didn’t seem to care that I was watching. I mean, why would he give a shit about anyone other than himself? He just leaned forward and eyed her up and down, saying the ugliest things.

I didn’t really care because he was my boyfriend, sometimes I don’t even like to think of him that way, I just felt bad. And that in itself wasn’t an unusual feeling for me, but the rarity stemmed from how much I wanted to say something. How much I wanted to take that bag of steaming popcorn and throw it in his face. 

Maybe it was because I was looking in Angela’s eyes. I was realizing that she wasn’t too different from me beyond the social class and the choice of friends.

That’s when the recognition set in.

I held my tongue until Bob walked off with Randy, popcorn and soda in hand. Marcia tapped my shoulder impatiently as she chewed on a wad of gum. "Wanna come with me to the bathroom?"

"Oh," I said. "I would but I wanna buy something first."

She scoffed and opened her mouth to say something about my treacherous behavior, but then rolled her eyes and walked away, huffing "whatever" under her breath.

I remember hesitantly making my way up to the counter, fingers fidgeting in front of me. And Angela's eyebrows raised, incredulous as I neared her. 

"Can I help you with something?" She asked sharply.

"Um," I started, "I just wanted to apologize, on Bob's behalf."

Her face fell and her mouth twisted. She looked away from me, studying her cuticles or the register in front of her. "Nice of you to apologize after all your friends leave."

I couldn't say anything in response.

She saw my shock and shook her head, almost like she was disappointed. "You could've said something when it was happening, but you didn't."

I leaned forward. "I'm sorry, Angela. But I'm sure that you understand."

Her stare was blank and uninterested. "I don't."

"Think about it, then," I said. "you wouldn't do that for me if it meant betraying your gang would you?"

She almost scowled at me, scoffing and rolling her shoulders. When she looked into my eyes she glared, shooting imaginary daggers into my head. "I would. Because I'm not a fucking coward."

I was taken aback, feeling like I had gotten smacked with her words. They stung me just like a slap would. I felt like pleading with her, for whatever reason. Because at that moment, I realized that people looked at me the way they looked at Bob, the way they looked at Marcia. And I didn't want that. 

"You know how hard it is for me," I said, whispering close to her.

Her face seemed to soften the slightest bit.

"How hard it is for both of us," I continued. "In a world like this, without powers, it sucks."

She scrunched her nose and flipped her curly, black hair. "You say that, but here I am and here you are. We may be in similar situations but we're not the same, Sherri. I don't let my problems get in the way of being a decent fucking person, unlike you and your clique."

I tried to fight a pout. "I am decent."

Angela almost laughed. "Compared to those assholes anyone is."

I didn't say anything for a while. Right as I saw her eyes lose interest I reached out for her attention. “I am a good person. I’m better than them.”

She looked at me with wide dark eyes, painted lips pursed as she contemplated for a moment. Then she sighed and merely said, “Prove it.”

I didn’t think I would then. I thought I would go on with life, ultimately forgetting about the strange conversation Angela and I had that summer’s day. But in the midst of the break-ups and drama of the season, Bob was keen on revisiting the theater over and over again. We all knew it was so he could harass Angela, pinch her curls, fondle her dark hand, and revel at the callousness in her quips. 

But I didn’t mind. I found myself enjoying our little visits, the moments I could sneak away to laugh with someone who understood me--a feeling I never had before. In between dull movie scenes and moments of shallow conversation, I left to her side. Listened to her as she spoke, allowed her to listen to me.

It was wonderful to be heard for the first time in my life. To not be shut down, or tuned out, or overlooked. The feeling of being someone’s equal was addicting.

One hot night we stood in the alley behind the theater, besides large trash cans filled with debris and leftover concessions. She leaned against the wall of the building, an e-cigarette in her lips, gently inhaling and exhaling electrified smoke. 

“Why do you put up with that dickhead?” She asked, one hand reaching down and fidgeting with the blaster hanging loosely in her belt loops. She always carried a weapon with her, I never did. I almost felt naked next to her, with her blades and lasers and whatnot, while I stood idly by.

“It’s weird.” She said a while ago.

“What?”

“I’ve never met a non-super who doesn’t carry weapons on them.”

“I don’t need to, I’m surrounded by powerful people.”

She chuckled. “Weird.” 

Back in the alley, I pretended to contemplate over her question, even though I didn’t need to. Even though the answer was obvious and clear in the walls of my brain.

“Well…” I paused and sighed gently, turning away from her. “I don’t think you’d get it.”

She shrugged. “Just tell me.”

“It’s stupid.”

“Cherry,” she said, finally getting used to the feeling of my nickname on her tongue. She smiled softly and gently nudged my shoulders with hers. “I don’t judge.”

I bit my lips and looked down at my fingers, they played with one another. “When I was born… my parents were so shocked, you know? The doctors said it was rare but possible, for two supers to have a powerless child. Something about genetics and heritage. They were so disappointed, sometimes they hid it but sometimes they didn’t even bother. I was lonely my whole life, I was never truly seen or heard or… cared about. Because, well, I was useless, I didn’t mean anything.”

I could feel my eyes sting, I hated crying--especially in front of people. It was just Angela, but I was still me. I leaned my head backward, feeling my hair hit the stone wall, and sucked the tears back in. “When I met Bob… it’s not that I felt like I was seen, not by him at least, but I started getting noticed. I mean, him and Randy are at the top of the food chain, in school and when it comes to their powers. Suddenly, I wasn’t invisible anymore. And I wasn’t an outcast. I was respected, even. And my parents were so proud of me for dating a guy like Bob.”

I rolled my shoulders. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted my entire life.”

Angela nodded slowly. I was scared, for a moment, that I had divulged too much. I was vulnerable, and in my world, that was a sign of weakness. I couldn’t stop the warmth that spread to my neck and my arms, my fingers danced wildly.

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know that my problems probably sound stupid.”

Angel shook her head kindly. “Not at all. You know, I can’t relate to it very much. I mean, my parents are dead.”

I felt guilt creep into my skin, like prickly, cold fingers.

“But if my parents were alive,” she continued, “I wouldn’t want to disappoint them. I don’t want to disappoint my brothers or my gang. So I understand, I guess. Why you hang out with those assholes, why you crawl back to Bob every time he calls you up. It’s kind of sad.”

“Yeah,” I breathed out. I tucked a red tendril behind my ear, looking for an excuse to move, shifting my legs and feet a bit.

“You should dump that asshole,” she said through gritted teeth. “I get your life is fucked and all, but you should kick him to the curb.”

I did just that.

Summer was nearing its end, and Bob broke up with me for the third time in two short months. He liked to humiliate me when he did it, he knew I couldn’t fight back. And that time we were at a party. A beer was in his hands, his friends surrounded him, and roaring drunk girls were giggling behind me.

His face was smug, triumphant. I wanted to slap that grin right off of his lips.

“You wanna break up?” I said coldly.

He seemed shocked at the chill in my voice, the bitter edge, I could see it in his eyes. But he didn’t let that on to the people around him. He twisted his lips even higher, baring bright, perfect teeth. “Yeah, I do.”

“Great.”

His face fell. “What?”

“Great,” I said even louder. And soon enough I was yelling, yelling so loud and hard so that the whole house could hear me. So everyone could know that I was done with his bullshit, that I was done with them. Loud enough so they knew that I had chosen a side, and it was no longer theirs.

“Don’t call me! Don’t text me! Don’t ask to borrow my car! Don’t ask to hook up! We’re done, Bob!”

I felt his shadow behind me as I ran out of the door and into my car. I stepped inside and shut the door as he finally reached me.

“Wait! Cherry, wait--AH!”

His fingers were caught as I rolled the window up, his face contorted in pain and he screamed. I liked hearing that noise.

“Cherry!”

“Leave me alone, asshole!” I yelled, rolling down the window just enough so he could back away and then driving off into the night. I went to Angel’s house and she insisted we celebrate by smoking pot and eating her homemade brownies.

To be honest, I didn’t get the appeal of the high too much. But I loved laughing with Angela, I loved feeling free. The sweet sensation of relief got me more buzzed than the edibles, and I let myself cry that night. Full tears of joy.

The rest of the month flew by swiftly and perfectly, leading me here. Junior year, my own personal purgatory.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if there's any mistakes. It's 2 am and I'm dying

I thought summer lasted forever, but I guess I was wrong. Or else I wouldn’t be in front of this building, counting seconds and testing my breath. Wondering if I’m as prepared as I thought, as prepared as I tricked myself into thinking I was. 

I’m realizing that I’m scared, deathly afraid. There are people in there, the children I’ve known since birth. Kids who I’ve left behind and forgotten about.

Bob’s in there, and Marcia, and Randy. I wonder what they’re expecting to see, I wonder who they’re expecting. I’m not the same person I once was.

What if that’s a bad thing?

I try not to hyperventilate in my car and instead think of Angela. She taught me how to give zero fucks, how to look past the temptation of superficial, weak emotions. Crying in my car counts as giving a shit. Crying in my car is wrong. And so is turning around and driving home.

I fight through any ache I might feel as I swing my door open. There aren't too many people outside, most are indoors catching up with friends and seeing what lockers they can take. But the few who stand by the open doors and chat amongst themselves in front of shrubbery notice me as I walk by. Their jaws drop.

I guess the worst part about being popular is that you can never be invisible, even if you’ve distanced yourself from the inner circle. Except now I’m not respected, I’m instead infamous. I’m notorious. And so is my sheared hair, reaching just the edge of my chin.

The old Cherry Valance died, I made sure of that. I got rid of the cute, pastel outfits, the modest jeans and skirts and dresses. And I demolished the long, lavish locks that reached my waist. They were discarded a few weeks ago.

I don’t want to be myself anymore, I want to be something better. 

I don't duck my head or try to hide in my skin as they stare, I strut. Past their pale faces and inside of the school. The throngs of people that inhabit the halls almost silence when they see me, eyes bulging and mouths open. I walk and keep on walking.

I don’t care what they say about the short hair--I almost dyed it black but Angel stopped me--or the frayed denim shorts that barely reach my thigh, or the fishnet long-sleeved shirt, or the visible red bralette under it, or the boots that clump as I walk. 

I repeat a mantra in my mind as their eyes bore into my skin. No fucks, no fucks, no fucks, no fucks.

I walk past a familiar place, one I used to belong too. Their backs are turned to me at first, and I’m grateful. I don’t know if I can deal with their glances or jokes. But one of the girls notices me, audibly gasps, and taps Bob’s shoulder. Once he turns around, so does the rest of the group.

I freeze in place, I can’t stop myself. The people who I used to call friends are now eyeing me with disgust, up and down my body. Some of the boys can’t help a smile, neither can Bob. But his grin, like always, is much more sinister.

I’m still as a deer when he saddles up to me, sauntering like he’s so cool. I want to vomit at the proximity, he’s so close. His familiar cologne scent indulges me, I always hated that smell.

“Cherry Valance,” he says slowly, drawing out each syllable.

I frown and glare at him. “It’s Sherri to you. Only my friends can call me that.”

He bites his lip. “Oh, a privilege I have to earn, I get it. You know, I was planning on asking you if you were going to change your mind but,” he gives me a long, hard look, from my boots to the revealing bralette, “I guess you haven’t. Nice hair.”

He reaches out to touch a loose curl but I back away. “Don’t test me, Bob.”

His eyes light up and he snorts, the people behind him laugh. I hate how they’re just watching us. “What’re you gonna do, Sherri? What have those ghetto kids gotten into your head?"

“Don’t call them that,” I spit.

“You’re still weak,” Bob hisses, close to me. So close. His fingers are moving, I feel their warmth nearing my waist, my neck. “Don’t forget that I’m stronger than you.” So close. “I’ll always be.”

I reach into my back pocket and pull out a knife, nearly pressing the blade into his nose. Clicking a small button, the thing lights up with sparks, sizzling and crackling in front of Bob’s face. He almost backs up in surprise, his eyes wide and almost scared, then his face washes over with some kind of recognition.

He cackles. “You know, you almost had me fooled for a second.”

I roll my eyes. “What are you talking about, Bob?”

“I really thought you were one of them,” he says darkly. He’s inching forward again. “But little, powerless Cherry wouldn’t have the nerve-”

In an instant, I nick him. He draws away from me and almost yelps, watching as tiny beads of blood trickle down his arm. I had turned the power off, all he had was a small scratch, no burns or scars. 

The group stares at me with some kind of awe and some kind of fear. I’m not used to that look, I’ve never had that look directed at me in my entire life. I love it, and I soak up that power by wiping my blade clean with my fingers and sucking the blood off. It’s disgusting, I immediately regret doing it, but my point seems to be made as Bob’s crew recoils in terror.

“Stay away from me,” I say, placing the knife in my pocket and walking past them. As I do, I firmly repeat the last word I said to him when we broke up, “Asshole.”

There’s an exhilaration in my bones, like wild, untamed energy, and it spreads throughout my entire body. I’m so drunk on it that I don’t even notice the stairs as I make my way to Angel’s spot. She’s rummaging through her backpack for something and smiles once she sees I’m near. 

“Girl,” she snaps her fingers, “you’re looking hot today.”

“Thank you,” I say cooly, moving to her side and nudging my shoulder against hers. “All thanks to you and the shopping we did.”

“Totally worth it!” She smiles and pulls some pink gloss out of her bag, smearing it on her lips. She notices me watching. “Want some?”

“Gross,” I say, but still take it and smother it all over my bright red lipstick. I smack my mouth as she puts it away.

“So,” she starts excitedly, “have you heard the news about the new girl?”

“The what?” I ask, not hearing the last part of her sentence.

“The new-”

“If it isn’t Cherry Valance and Angela Shepard!” Someone booms, beyond the noise and chatter of the students filling the halls. “The finest ladies in school!”

Angel and I both laugh, immediately recognizing the voice. We both turn to meet his big grin and simultaneously drop our jaws in shock. 

“Wow, Cherry,” Dallas says, roaming my body with his eyes, smirking at the view. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you but promise me you’ll never change.”

“I-Dallas-” I stutter, flabbergasted.

“What’s gotten into you?!” Angel nearly screams pointing to the top of his head.

Dallas lifts his eyes, pretending not to notice his mop of pink hair. Bright almost platinum pink. He runs a hand through the mess and shrugs. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Did you have a mental breakdown in the past few days?” Angel asks. “We saw you last Thursday, it’s Monday! How could this happen?”

His eyes soften and for a moment, his cool exterior seeping away. “Do you not like it?”

“Dally,” I say, suppressing a giggle, “Your hair looks like cotton candy.”

He rolls his eyes and plays with his sharp locks. “I was having a day and I just did it. And I didn’t immediately regret it so I thought that was a good sign that I should keep it. I’m second-guessing myself.” He glares at us. “I never second guess myself.”

“Don’t blame us,” Angel scoffs. “You did this to yourself, and now everyone’s gonna get the wrong idea.”

He raises an eyebrow. “The wrong idea?”

She awkwardly shrugs and makes stiff and vague motions with her hands. “That you’re… you know.”

Dallas contemplated over her words for a moment before furrowing his eyebrows. “Angela, I was fucking your brother last Tuesday, I don’t think there’s a wrong idea to have.”

“I-” She sighs and throws her hands up in surrender, “I guess you’re right, Winston.”

“Why are we talking about me, anyway?” He asks defensively. He points to me and gestures to my outfit. “Why aren’t we talking and this thing and her sexy little ensemble.”

“You can’t talk to me like that when your hair is pink,” I say. 

He scoffs. “Well, then who can I talk to?”

Angel mutters beside me, “My brother, I guess.”

Dallas turns to me and flashes some of his charm, the one that gets all the girls into his bed. I’m immune to it, even though I found myself tripping over his cool blue eyes when we met in the summer. “When are you gonna admit it, Cherry? That you and me belong together?”

“You and I,” I correct, Angel snorts. “And never. I already broke up with a toxic asshole, I don’t need to date another one.”

He pouts. “Well, that was cruel.”

The shrill ringing of the bell pierces through all the conversations in the busy hallway. Angela huffs and pulls me away by the arm, turning to Dallas and quipping, “Cruel and true, ta-ta now.”

I laugh as we push further into the crowd of students. We reach into our backpacks and pull out our phones, flipping through them for a picture of our schedules. Just as I’m about to ask if we have any classes together, Angel lets out a long and languid sigh.

“Ugh!” She moans. “I love him so much.”

I smile softly and turn to her. “You should tell him.”

“Tim would be so pissed,” she says. “He’s whipped for that guy.”

“Well,” I push a hair back in place as we maneuver our way through the packed hall, “he’s not whipped back.”

“I don’t want to be a bitch. Anyways, have you heard about the new-”

Someone pushes past me, nearly toppling my backpack and the items inside of it onto the floor. I glare at the people surrounding me and mutter under my breath, “Dickhead.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.”

She looks down at her phone and then to the open door next to her. “This is my first class.”

“Oh,” I say, reaching out and pulling her into a small hug. “Okay, I’ll miss you today, Angie.”

She scrunches her nose as she pulls away. “Please, Cherry, let’s stick to Angel.”

I giggle and walk away, turning only to blow a kiss in her direction. She catches it, sticks it in her pocket, and blows one right back. I make my way to my class, glancing at door numbers and back at my phone to ensure I’m going the right direction. I make a few lefts and rights and walk to the science wing, suddenly enveloped by a cyber-punk alternate reality. Dark walls decorated in intricate coding surround me, and screens in random places.

They always change the science buildings every few years to keep up with the world--"to stay modern and relevant."

I find my class soon enough and slip inside. I receive a few glances, some stares, some dropped jaws, but none of my old friends are here. A weight falls off of my chest. But still, and I notice this as I chew on my nails, none of my current friends are here either.

I’m isolated here, and the center of attention as my peers judge me with their eyes. I do my best not to shrink.

No fucks. No fucks. No fucks.

Our teacher is at her desk, nose buried in papers and folders and screens and computers. Her small office is a mess and she almost looks lost in the chaos. She picks up a large tablet and swipes her finger over it, skimming whatever notes she has written down while adjusting the glasses on her nose. 

“Hello, class,” she says, finally looking up from the clutter. “My name is--oh…” 

Her gaze lands on me and the world goes silent again. The classroom is staring at me. A familiar heat laps at the back of my neck and my armpits and my toes. I want to sweat.

“H-hello,” she stutters, trying again. “Welcome to another school year and, uh, before I get into some of the details I would like us all to give a warm welcome to a new student in our school, Sylvia…” Her voice trails off, she begins to scan the classroom with squinting eyes. She takes off her glasses and rubs them on the cloth of her shirt. “Hmm… she’s not here.”

Just as she shrugs her shoulders and moves onto the next subject, the door opens slowly. All the students turn their focus to the girl walking inside of the classroom.

Her light bronze skin catches our attention, covering slender arms, thick thighs, and long legs. But the next impossible to notice feature about her is her brown, hazel eyes. Light but deeply enchanting, shadowed with luscious eyelashes. Freckles dot her button nose and her soft cheeks, complimented by a rose blush. Her lips are full and curved slightly, in a kind of smile. And framing her face are gentle curls, almost loose, almost tight, long and flowing to her shoulders, dark brown but with streaks of gold. Her tight, denim tube top showed off the curves of her upper body, her black shorts barely covered the curves of her hips, and a light, thin jacket pooled at her elbows, leaving her round shoulders exposed. 

And we had all seen it, the most beautiful girl alive.

“This is Sylvia,” the teacher says, oblivious to her hypnotized students. “And she’s a little late.”

The girl looks at her blankly, adjusting the heavy books in her arms. “I couldn’t find the class.”

“Well, I’m sorry about your grievances, but we have a class to start.”

It looks like she’s fighting an eye-roll, or holding back a rude remark. She instead shrugs and flips her hair over her dark shoulder. “Okay, then.”

“Introduce yourself,” the teacher says. “Tell us where you’re from.”

She purses her lips and stays silent for a bit. She slowly looks over the crowd, as if she's debating whether or not to speak. “Zone 6.”

The class collectively gasps. I shoot up from my seat, my interest in the girl piqued. Beyond her face and her hair and her perfect eyes, she has more than beauty. She has a story.

I hear a girl whisper behind me, her voice trembling, “The Death DIstrict.”

The Death District. The country is no longer comprised of states, it instead is made up of cities--some large and vast, spreading out into sparse nothingness, and some small. Cities themselves have different zones or towns, whatever you wish to call them. I live in Zone 10, we’re as dangerous and violent as any other place in the modern-day world--filled to the brim with mafias, crime, and gang activity. Here, you join a crew just to protect yourself. But even in the midst of our chaos, we’re still controlled. This is probably the best area in the city. Our way of living is organized and less hazardous than the rest, we have good schools, rich neighborhoods, and low death rates.

But there’s us, Zone 10, and then there’s Zone 6. Appropriately labeled as the Death District. Needless to say, life is a little different there.

There are only 4 ways to make it out alive in a place like that. You can be powerful, so powerful that no one would ever dare to mess with you. You can be in an alliance with someone powerful. You can lay low and mind your own business, though you’d still be caught in the crossfires of turf wars and vandalization, so your chances of death are still sufficiently high. Or you could be a peacemaker, someone who’s respected and loved--to the point where hurting someone close to you can seal a deathly fate. 

I’m staring at that girl. Sylvia, I think is her name. And I can’t help but wonder how she got here, how she’s alive. I look over her body, realizing she has no scars. I’m so curious it hurts.

She notices me looking and catches my gaze. My stomach flips over when our eyes meet, and realizing that I can’t handle her attention on me I look away. I feel my heart in my chest, pounding, doing somersaults.

She’s sitting down a few seats away from me, I can sense she's still looking. I’m burning up.

I feel so strange.

I can’t ignore the feelings surging through me throughout the class period. An hour and a half passes and I spend it trying to sneak quick glances of Sylvia. She always catches me and I turn away blushing. At one point, she smiles right at me, I nearly vomit from the fluttering in my stomach.

I’m grateful for the bell ringing, but upset that I won’t see her again. I hope to find her during lunch, and just stare until I see an answer written in the freckles of her shoulder, or in the daintiness of her hands. She’s all I can think about for the next three classes.

I’m obsessed. 

When lunch arrives, I make my hasty way to the cafeteria, not even remembering to message Angela. As I find a table to sit at and my eyes roam the large room, searching for her brown curls, looking for the sheen of her skin.

A hand lands on my shoulder and I nearly scream.

“Woah!” Angela exclaims. “Calm down, is this our table?”

“Yeah,” I say, impatiently tapping my fingers and foot. I don’t see her. 

“You okay?” Angel asks hesitantly. She looks over me with worry and concern on her brow.

I brush her words away with my hand. “I’m fine I just…” I bite my lip, my eyes still wild in a frantic search. Surrendering, I sigh and turn to Angel. “I saw her.”

She scrunches her face in confusion. “Who?”

“Her,” I repeat with an emphasis on the word. “The new girl.” I excitedly grab her arm and squeeze it gently. “You wouldn’t believe where she’s from, Zone-”

“6,” she says in a breathy voice, just as awestruck as I am. 

“You know her?”

She shakes her head. “Rumors are already spreading. She’s all anyone can talk about. It’s amazing.”

“What’s amazing?” Tim asks, walking to our table with a cookie in his mouth and a tray in his hands. Curly trails behind him with the same lunch. They plop down in front of us and start eating.

“The new girl,” Angel says.

Tim nearly drops his cookie, his eyes light up. “The one from Zone 6?”

“The babe,” Curly adds smugly. Tim smacks his head.

I nod my head. “Yes.”

Tim smiles and mixes his watered-down mashed potatoes with his spork. He takes a large bite and talks through the food. “Must be one tough chick if she survived the Death District.”

I lean on the table, placing my head in my hands. I mumble softly, “I wonder why she’s here.”

“She’s here.”

“What?” We all ask Angela.

She’s not focused on us, her eyes are set on a scene just beyond our vision. We twist our heads around to see her, Sylvia, in the middle of the cafeteria. She’s the center of attention, a fair beauty looking lost and awkward in the presence of our curious student body.

Our group is silent as we watch her, wondering what her next move will be. My heart has stopped.

“We should look away,” I say softly. I open my backpack and pull out my lunch, looking for a distraction.

“Why?” Tim asks.

I shrug and subtly gesture to the stiff girl. “She doesn’t like the attention, just look at her.”

Angela and Tim seem to agree with me, turning their backs to the scene, but Curly’s stare is persistent. “It’s her fault for being pretty.”

“Curly,” Angela groans.

He finally peels his eyes away. “I’m just saying.”

Tim decides to change the subject first. Biting into his biscuit, he asks, “Where’s Dallas?”

Angel’s face nearly goes purple whenever Tim says that name.

“I don’t know,” I say.

He frowns, taking another large bite. “Well, he’s missing out.”

There’s a sudden silence in the cafeteria, tension spoils the atmosphere. We can’t help ourselves and look to see what’s caught everyone’s attention once more. My blood runs cold as I see Marcia, my former best friend, beckoning Sylvia with a hand. She seems reluctant, but makes her slow way to the table I once sat at. 

Marcia gives the new girl a big, bright grin. I immediately recognize the bullshit in the white of her teeth. When she talks, she talks loud, making sure the entire hushed cafeteria can hear her conversation. She’s relishing the spotlight of fame she’s been given. “So, what’s your name?”

Sylvia picks at her food, only occasionally looking up at the preppy girls and boys who ogle her as if she’s some exhibit from a museum. She softly replies, “Sylvia.”

Everyone stretches their ears, cranes their necks, does their best not to miss a single detail of the moment. 

“I hear you’re from Zone 6,” Marcia says in a syrupy-sweet voice.

Sylvia nods.

“Do you know what we call Zone 6 around here?” She asks.

Whatever’s in her throat, Sylvia doesn’t swallow it. Her eyes lift to Marcia’s stupid grin, she gives her a testing expression. After some time, she shakes her head.

“The Death Zone.”

There’s something in the air, like electricity sparking through all of us. Tim softly mutters, “Jesus.”

“Is that so?” Sylvia asks.

“Mm-hmm,” Marcia nods her head, trying to look like fucking Snow White. “It’s dangerous over there.”

Sylvia merely shrugs and takes a bite of her mashed potatoes. “I guess.”

There’s a certain frustration in Marcia’s eyes, the new girl isn’t giving her the reaction she desires. Marcia decides to prod her further. “So, what kind of school did you go to over there?”

Before she can answer, Marcia interrupts her swiftly, “Probably nothing like this school, huh? Zone 6 isn’t that well off, is it?”

Sylvia says nothing.

“Is it?”

Instead of responding, she rips off a piece of her biscuit, stuffing it inside of her mouth. She shrugs again, refusing to lose her cool.

“I’m sure it is,” Marcia continues. “Schools like that aren’t very educational, I mean, they’re too focused on getting their ghetto students not to stab each other.”

Sylvia stiffens.

“Were you one of those kids? Like, ghetto, I mean. No etiquette, always focused on crime, poor manners-” 

“I don’t think I’m the one with poor manners here.”

We all gasp. Angela’s hand flies to her mouth in surprise. I do my best to stifle a grin.

“Excuse me?” Marcia asks, offended.

Sylvia frowns. “I don’t think I need to repeat myself, I made my point clear.”

Marcia is silent. Sylvia rolls her eyes and says, “I’m calling you rude. I’m basically saying that you’re a bitch.”

The cafeteria erupts. Some people jump in their seats, others drop their jaws in shock, others squeal in excitement. Our group can’t help ourselves, we’re howling like wolves, gripping the edges of our table as we cackle, doubling over because our stomachs hurt.

Marcia’s cheeks are blood red and her eyes squinted, her hands ball into fists as she fumes. She silences the entire room when she stands up, looming over the calm Sylvia. She places her hands on her hips and booms, “Who do you think you are? A little, poor, powerless girl from the ghetto, talking to me like you have a chance in kicking my ass. Do you even know what I’m capable of?”

Sylvia looks her up and down, seemingly sizing her up before she stands herself. “I don’t think you know what I’m capable of.”

The color in Marcia’s face drains. We’re all at the edge of our seats, holding our breaths with anticipation. All because no one does know what she’s capable of, powerless or not.

“I may not be a super,” Sylvia says cooly, “but I’m far from powerless. You think I spent 17 years of my life cowering from people? No, let me tell you this, little miss princess, I know how to fight. And I know how to win.”

The fear is evident in Marcia’s eyes, she’s scared. The crowd is concerned, suddenly, for the outcome of the situation. Marcia looks around, staring into hundreds of wide eyes, and suddenly burns red again. She turns to Sylvia and scowls. It’s subtle, but we all notice it, at Marcia’s table everything starts floating. Lunch trays, papers, cartons all hover slightly. She’s using her power on campus, one of the biggest rules you can break. If she moves the objects any higher, she’ll be caught and punished. She’s trying to find a loophole, an in-between where she can look menacing but somehow escape trouble.

“You better watch out,” she nearly growls.

Sylvia doesn’t even flinch. “Are you trying to scare me? Because it’s not working.”

Marcia’s dangerously close to the edge, clenching her fists harder. The objects around her begin to fly higher, even the table begins to lift. “I said watch out.”

Sylvia’s still unfazed. “If you’re threatening me-”

“I am.”

“Then don’t.” Her voice is just as cold as Marcia’s. They’re staring each other down, fighting for power.

“What’re you gonna do it about?” Marcia asks tauntingly. 

“Don’t test me.”

“Come on, what’re you gonna--AH!”

We all gasp as Sylvia pulls out a blaster she had hidden in her jacket. She aims it in Marcia’s direction, hand flirting with the trigger. The objects in Marcia’s control collapse as she jumps back, eyes on the weapon intent to kill her.

“You wouldn’t!” Marcia yells desperately.

“I would!” 

“Stop!” She pleads. “Stop! Stop, please! I’m sorry!”

Sylvia’s lips curl into a sadistic smile and she chuckles. “A bit too late for that, isn’t it?”

“Ahem!”

We all turn to see our principal standing at the cafeteria’s entrance, her arms crossed. There’s this strange expression on her face, something between exasperation, incredulity, and indifference. As if situations like this are only another tiring side effect of her job.

She sighs and massages her forehead. “I don’t think I have to say very much.”

Sylvia stares at her with panicked eyes, slowly lowering her blaster. She’s about to return it to her jacket but an invisible force knocks it out of her hands, pulling it to the principal's grasp.

“I’ll be taking that,” the woman says smugly. She points to Sylvia and Marcia, motioning them over to her. With their heads hanging low, the two girls walk towards her. She pats both of their backs and leads them out of the cafeteria. “Good girls.”

Our eyes trail their bodies until they’re out of sight. My heart suddenly lifts in my chest, swelling and enveloping my organs. That girl, I think.

That girl.

I’m restless during my last period. I ask to go to the bathroom--for “personal” reasons--and slip out of the classroom clutching my backpack in my hands, no intention of returning. My feet suddenly have a mind of their own as I walk around campus, and I don’t know where they’re leading me until I’m halfway there. 

I’m standing by the entrance to the main office, knowing full well that Sylvia’s somewhere inside. I can’t explain the reasoning behind my curiosity, all I can think of is the mystery shrouding her. A girl from the Death District. A girl who doesn’t fear a powerful super. A girl who gives less fucks than I do.

I take in a deep breath and march inside, acting confident so that I wouldn’t raise any suspicion of my whereabouts. The school secretary looks up at me curiosity, silently asking me what I wanted with her kind eyes. 

“I need to use the phone,” I lie.

She nods and points to a phone-pad by a large window. “Over there, sweetheart.”

I mumble a thanks and head over that direction, but my eyes are intently set on the door to the principal's office. It’s slightly ajar, and I can see moving shadows through the opaque glass. I blindly press numbers into the pad, trying to appear natural as I look for a small sign of her presence. 

Suddenly, the door swings open and Marcia stomps out of the office, arms crossed. She notices me looking at her and shoots me a hateful glare, walking past the secretary and into the hallway. Sylvia trails behind her, awkwardly stuffing her returned blaster into the shadow of her jacket. Her gaze shifts and suddenly… 

Our eyes meet again.

I nervously turn away from her and press the numbers on the pad wildly, loud beeping noises fill the office as I internally panic. There’s a sudden warmth behind me and then minty, fresh breath saying,

“You’re in my science class, right?”

I jump around and fight a shriek when I see Sylvia, face inches away from mine.

“Woah!” She says, surprised. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

I calm my erratic breaths and repress the urge to run away. With a hand on my chest, I inhale and exhale slowly, in and out over and over again. My words sound like an insignificant squeak when I try to talk to her. “It’s… okay.”

Her teeth are tugging at her bottom lip, my heart beats wildly in my chest. I can’t be around this girl any longer, it’ll kill me. “What’s your name?”

“Cherry,” I mumble dumbly.

“Hmm?”

“Cherry,” I say a touch louder, still trembling. Out of what? I’m not sure.

She giggles, all of my emotions catch in my throat at the sound. "That's a funny name."

I shake my head and try to regain my thoughts. "It's a nickname, my real name is…" I'm lost in her eyes for a moment, I can't escape them. I whisper softly. "Sherri."

"That's cute."

I'm drowning, I'm choking. "You're Sylvia."

She laughs softly, baring straight and perfect teeth. There's a tiny gap in between the front two, I find it endearing. "You've probably heard my name all day, haven't you?"

"Yeah." I'm breathless, my voice is lighter than air.

Sylvia finally steps away. I can breathe now, but I miss the sweet buzz of suffocation that she gave me. I want to draw her close again, to be near her. "Sorry to bother you, then. I'll see you later."

My mind doesn't turn on again until she's by the door, about to step out. Suddenly, a jolt of consciousness runs through my body like electricity and I call out, "Wait!"

She turns to me, and so does the secretary, and every other person in the office. I ignore the blush on my cheeks and walk over to her, our bodies close again. "Where are you going?"

Her lips curve into a soft smile, so gentle and plump. She adjusts the strap of her backpack as she says, "I don't know, class probably."

"Let's ditch," I say.

Her delicate eyebrows raise. She looks me up and down, I feel so vulnerable and open under her gaze. I twitch nervously. "I wouldn't think of you as that kind of girl."

"You wouldn't?" I ask, genuinely confused. 

"You just," she shrugs, "don't seem like you have the spirit."

"Oh," I say, shoulders slumping.

She laughs and punches me playfully in the arm. "Come on, don't take it personally." She gestures to the end of the hallway. "Let's go."

I smile and follow her out of the office, making our way to the edge of the campus. She opens the door for me and I hop out and into the sunshine, she's not too far behind me and eventually catches up. We're walking side by side on the sidewalk, every step leading us further away from the school. 

"You ditch often?" She asks curiously.

I shake my head. "No."

"Why today?"

I fight the blood rushing to my face. "You, I guess."

It's silent for a few seconds, the only noise filling the air is the rustling of leaves in the wind. A cool breeze hits my skin, it feels pleasant against the warmth of the sun. 

"That's sweet."

I can't combat the grin on my lips.

She gently prods my shoulder with her finger. "Wanna take me somewhere interesting?" 

"Sure." I skip around the concrete and she quickly joins me.

I lead her to a secluded trail, one that cuts through the back of buildings and a bit of the woods. It's always quiet here, and I take walks here often.

Sylvia absorbs the scene with wide eyes and slightly parted lips. Blossoms from trees fall from branches and litter the path. She picks a few up and sticks them in her hair at random.

I can't stop myself from saying it. "You're really interesting."

She looks up at me coyly, girlish hands behind her back. "You think so?"

I snort. "'I think so, I think so.' I know so."

Maybe I'm imagining the red in her cheeks. Maybe it's real.

But I can't shut up around her. "I mean, you nearly killed Marcia during lunch."

She rolls her eyes and scoffs. "No, I didn't."

I laugh. "It looked like you almost did."

"That was the point," she says as if it was obvious. She suddenly takes the blaster out of her jacket and I jump back, startled. "Don't freak out, it's not even charged. It wouldn't do anything to her."

"You were bluffing?"

"Of course I was." She chuckles. "I couldn't actually kill anyone."

"Well, we almost thought you were, for a second," I say.

Sylvia smiles bitterly. "Well, of course you did. I'm a ghetto girl from the Death District. I'm dangerous. I'm a criminal."

I nearly trip over my own feet as she speaks. I rush in front of her in a panic. "Wait, Sylvia, I didn't mean it like that-"

"I know you didn't," she says reassuringly. "But a lot of people do mean it that way. The bitch at the cafeteria sure as hell did."

She walked along the path and I kept a steady pace with her, our footsteps were in sync. "That's just Marcia and her crew, you should ignore people like them. They're dickheads who put people down just to make themselves feel better."

She smirks at me, her little smiles always catch me off guard. "You sound like you know them well."

I reach down and swiftly take a rock into my hands, I toss it away from me with a little force, watching as it skips against grass. Sylvia does the same with a nearby pebble. "I used to be one of them."

She turns to me, her gaze suddenly softer than usual. "What changed, Cherry?"

My name escaping her lips ignites my whole body like a wildfire. I pick up another rock and play with it in my palm, bouncing it up and down. 

I shrug. "I guess I just found the right people. And they helped me find myself."


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ok this is it y'all, hope you enjoyed.
> 
> THANKS TO OLLIE FOR HELPING ME WITH THE TITLE

The next afternoon, I'm sitting in a booth made of leather. The entire diner is modeled after the 1960s, with stereotypical references and motifs. There's a jukebox playing in the corner, but all of the music it plays is modern.

None of us are comfortable here. Tim is playing with his collar and Curly is fidgeting with sugar packets. Angela and I give each other knowing glances, but occasionally she's too busy ogling Dallas to notice me.

Dallas, who's hair is still pink and who's the only one smiling at our table.

"Why are we here?" Tim asks impatiently, exasperated with the discomforting and quiet situation.

Dallas looks up from his menu and shoots Tim a glare. "Because the food is good."

Tim's eyes slide to nearby tables, taking in the watered-down and mushy food. His face twists up in disgust. "It doesn't look very good."

Dallas frowns, eyes glued to the menu. "Don't knock it till you try it. Look! Buttermilk pancakes and eggs, I think I'll try that."

We’re not amused by him. He looks between all of us and furrows his eyebrows. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Why are we here?” Tim repeats even louder.

“Why couldn’t we go to Rita’s?” Curly asks, slumped in his seat, cheek in his hands. 

“Yeah,” Angela whines, “why couldn’t we?”

“Stop being so mean!” Dallas says. “You’re ruining my mood! The food here is good and I like this place.”

“How many times have you been here?” Angela asks.

He shrugs. “I think only once. But it left a good first impression, so trust me.”

All of their voices drift away from my conscious, as if reality is just passing by and my mind is settled elsewhere. I’m in a different place, floating in the heat of the sun, basking in light and warmth. But I’m not alone. 

She’s there, Sylvia. Near me, so close. Our limbs are slowly inching together, brushing delicately at first, and then intertwining. Her chocolate skin against my pale body couples together like a painting, we’re a work of art. But the real beauty comes from her. It’s in her smile, in her eyes.

Her lovely eyes. They wrap around me like a blanket. I’m drowning, I don’t ever want to breathe. I won’t.

“What’s up with the redhead?”

“What?” I ask, suddenly awake from my daydreaming. Dallas’s curious eyes are on me.

Angela sighs. “She’s thinking about her girlfriend.”

“Her what?” He asks.

Curly perks up beside Tim. “Cherry’s gay?”

We all stare at him, saying nothing.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says. “She’s only ever dated boys.”

Angela pokes my shoulder and gives me a teasing smile. “She has a crush on the new girl, Sylvia.”

Dallas scratches behind his ear, lips twisting into a playful smirk. “Sylvia,” he enunciates every letter. “That’s her name.”

“You would like her, Dallas,” Curly says, grinning. “She’s a real looker.”

He shrugs. “Well, Cherry had eyes for her first. I don’t chase people my friends call dibs on.”

My cheeks burn red with the sudden conversation. I shoot Dallas a dirty look. “I didn’t call dibs on her, Dallas. I’m not filthy like you.”

His smile grows wickedly. “So you’re saying I have a chance?”

I steal a sugar packet from Angela’s fingers and flick it in the direction of his face. He dodges it with his arms and laughs it off, cackling like a hyena. Dallas always reminds me of a wild animal anytime he does anything.

We hear footsteps nearing us and turn our attention to the young boy making his way to our table. I announce, quite needlessly, “The waiter’s coming.”

A kid around our age approaches our booth. He has soft curls of black hair framing his face, neatly clipped and cropped to perfection just below his ears. His eyes are a deep brown, almost like Angela’s, and his skin is a dark tan. I think I recognize seeing glimpses of him at school.

He smiles brightly and takes a pen out of his apron’s pocket. “Hello, my name is Johnny and I’ll be your server today.”

My gaze somehow slides over to Dallas and-

Wait.

I fight the urge to drop my jaw.

This can’t be real.

I look around to see if anyone else notices what I do, and I’m met with the same amount of shock and surprise. We're all intently focused on Dallas, who, at the moment, seems almost unrecognizable.

He’s beaming, and his eyes are wide and vivid. He looks more alive than he ever has before. It’s astounding, to say the least.

“Hello, Johnny,” he says. His voice, which usually is hard, cracked, and anything but gentle, suddenly has a sing-songy tone to it. It’s… sweet.

I bring my hand to cover my agape mouth.

Dallas’s smile is still stubbornly plastered on his cheeks, I swear I can almost see dimples. “Um, I’ll have-”

“Wait,” Johny puts his pad down and points at Dallas with his pen. “I keep seeing you here.”

His grin immediately fades. “What?”

Johnny giggles. “I swear I have. You come here a lot, don’t you?”

“Uh,” Dallas stutters, “I may have come around once or twice-”

“I bet I know your name,” Johnny says, he puts one hand on his hip and the other on his chin. “It starts with a ‘d.’”

“Dallas,” he croaks out nervously.

I bite the inside of my cheek to stop myself from smiling. Curly’s giggling behind his palm and Angela is biting her upturned lip. This is a Dallas we’ve never seen before, and it’s fucking hilarious.

“I know your order,” Johnny says smugly. “Buttermilk pancakes with eggs.”

Dallas meekly nods as our waiter scribbles into his pad. When he’s done, he looks up at all of us with sparkling eyes, oblivious to our hidden knowledge. “Do you all know your orders? Do you want to start out with some drinks?"

We say nothing, we can’t speak without laughing. Dallas is the one who works up the courage to respond, he awkwardly smiles and says, “We’ll all have the same thing. With waters.”

Johnny nods and clicks his pen. “Alright.”

We can’t hold it in any longer, as soon as he turns away we’re bawling. Curly is pounding on the table with his fist, Angela and I are hanging onto to each other, gasping for air. In between the laughter, we reenact the awkward scene, sometimes I’m Dallas and Curly’s Johnny, sometimes Curly’s Dallas and Angela’s our table. Only Dally and Tim refuse to join in the fun. Dallas is beet red and Tim is glaring, at what? We don’t know. He isn’t looking at any of our faces.

“You’re real funny,” Dallas says, frustrated.

Angela wipes at her falling tears. “That was the funniest thing I’ve seen all year, oh my God!”

Tim inhales deeply through his nose and sighs loudly, slamming his hand on the table and standing up. “You’re kidding?”

His question is directed to Dallas, we all go silent.

Dallas frowns. “What are you talking about, Tim?”

He rolls his eyes and pushes past him, leaving the booth and muttering as he storms off, “I’m going to the bathroom.”

Dallas huffs. “I wonder what his problem is.”

Angel rolls her eyes and plays with a curl. “You’re a real idiot, Dallas.”

Once we’re done with lunch, Dallas insists that we all pitch in for the tip. “Five dollars at least,”, and he holds us to it. He rushes us out the door before Johnny can see the money, his face still crimson with embarrassment and adrenaline. 

“Looks like we all have a crush,” Angel says once we’re outside.

“Shut up.” Dallas tucks his chin and shoves his hands into his pockets, marching ahead of us before we can tease him mercilessly.

We all follow behind, Tim the slowest of us all. Dragging his feet and keeping his head low.

As we walk onwards, a spark of bronze catches my eye. I think it's fake at first, just another fantasy I conjured up in my mind. But she's real, she's there.

Standing at a crosswalk, Sylvia's gaze meets mine once more. 

"Hey," Angela squints her eyes and tilts her head, "isn't that…" Her voice trails off.

"That's her?" Dallas practically drools over the sight of her, as if he hadn't been a bumbling, lovestruck idiot half an hour ago.

"That's her," I breathe.

"Damn, Cherry." He grits his teeth then nods approvingly. "You have good taste."

"Assholse." But I'm able to pry my eyes away from her body. It's near impossible, especially when she's meeting me with the same intensity. God, I have to see her again.

"I'll catch up with you guys later," I say, still vexed by the beauty in front of me.

Angel smiles, almost proudly, and pokes my shoulder. "Okay, Cherry."

They all wave goodbye as I cross the street. Not caring about the cars or stop signs or anything beyond the girl on the other side. Eventually we're together, face to face again. No more distance between eyes.

She shyly smiles, it's strange to see the sudden lack of confidence. But she pulls herself together and says, "Take me someplace interesting?"

"Sure."

Side by side again, we stroll through the town. Our hands brush against each other every now and then, but I don't grasp her soft flesh just yet. She strays from me sometimes, obsessed like a child with the floating blossoms that land in her curls.

I've never seen anything more beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, quick explanation. This is obviously an AU but this is a universe that I've already made up in an original story of mine, so there's a lot of random information here that isn't important to the story because it has meaning in my og story. Anyhoo, I just wanted to write lesbians and that's why I did this.


End file.
